


Dollkind

by orphan_account



Series: Stitch Spell [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Magical Realism, Sherlock is a Living Doll, Silk Kink, doll!lock, dollAU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John sews a special patch on Sherlock, in a setting where Dollkind are much like androids, but they are made-beings in a world of magic instead of a world of technology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dollkind

**Author's Note:**

> [ stitchlock on tumblr](http://stitchlock.tumblr.com/post/86871285877/doll-lock-is-full-of-fluff-and-very-light-so-its)
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> This work has a pseudo-comicbook/art/fic prequel in the making on tumblr! [ Check out Makers and Menders](http://mendersandmakers.tumblr.com/tagged/mendersandmakers/chrono)

John takes his time. He special orders a fine silk spool, dyed to match. He measures out his cutting of thread for Sherlock's edification; he likes to know how much raw length becomes a seam. (What is the ratio? Is this new stitch of John’s as compact as the last? Is it better?) When he has a length pulled out roughly the span of his own arm (61cm), he ties the neatest possible knot. Two loops around the finger, rolled between thumb and index- then snugged.

The applique is already placed, held to the slowly rising and falling body beneath it with two straight pins. These pins, too, are carefully selected. Instead of bulky, blunt quilters pins with colorful bulbs on their ends, these are precisely tapered silk pins. Their thinner shafts make “the minimal disruption” (Sherlock insists) in the sleek weave of the patch. The satin is darker than the rest of Sherlock's cloth- the depth of shade and color matching the fleshtone of John's face. He worried Sherlock might prefer something more discreet, but Sherlock has told him unequivocally he _wants_ it to be evident. He wants to bear witness to the change John has made on his being.

A slip stitch is what Sherlock prefers. The covert tuck of seam allowance secured by invisible stitches suits his elegant frame. Soon John's fingers become confident in the rapid pricking of the two layers, and he works around the perimeter with such skill it looks to Sherlock like he's barely letting go of the needle at all. Finally attached, John buries his knot in the fold and snips the excess thread away (to be measured and deducted later). He nudges Sherlock, who is still prone on the sofa. He takes lightly to his feet and crosses toward the mirror over the mantle.

“How do you like it? I can still adjust it of course,” John hesitates.

“Don't be rough-hewn,” Sherlock snaps, tracing a finely articulated finger around the edge. “It's perfect.” He has never asked John to rip stitches and start over.

He still can't believe these little pieces of himself Sherlock has trusted him with, as though his rough, trembling hands should be allowed to touch such a finely made being. Well- he couldn't believe it before, but has finally understood since this request. After Sherlock asked for this piece, John spent hours tracing the pattern. Trying to design the shape he was going to share with Sherlock took him weeks, as it had to be the right size, the right arching curves and pointing divots to define both the Mender and the Doll. Though it is acceptable among Dollkind to make and trade hearts with several loved ones across a lifetime, this heart is Sherlock's first and John intends it to be his only.

“How does it feel?”

“Come see,” invites Sherlock, still admiring his reflection. The luster of the cloth is caught in a glow of light from the sitting room window, and John could swear he could see the stitch spell at work.

John hovers behind him, and lifts a hand to touch the little shape. It's warm now; the enchantment has taken it. John had never even considered trying his hand at stitch spell until he met Sherlock. The night they agreed to live together Sherlock popped a seam and he found himself to be naturally gifted during the repair; his skills as a former surgeon finding a new application. At the time he had hardly noticed the act had started something deep between them. It was usual for Makers to impart a sort of sensory empathy in a Doll they had created, but it was very strange for a Mender to make this connection.

“Beautiful Doll,” he says.

John has heard 'Doll' sound like a dirty word, and it nearly always is when it's directed at Sherlock, but now he makes sure it sounds like a caress. He tips his nose over Sherlock's satiny shoulder and drops a kiss there, surprising himself. They've long admired each other, but have always kept the touches between them necessary or incidental. This touch is deliberate, and he means to repeat it. Sherlock turns on the spot and leans back before taking John by the elbow and pulling him close.

“It feels different. Even more so than from before you first Mended me,” he observes.

“I think that's because it's not a repair, its an embellishment. It means something different, so it _feels_ different,” explains John.

“It feels-” Sherlock starts, “I want- I want to feel _with_ you, John.”

“Please, yes.”

John lifts to his toes and slips his hands to Sherlock’s face before meeting his lips to the silk threaded embroidery of Sherlock’s smile. Under his fingers he can feel the thread sculpting pull at the corners of his mouth in the faintest surprise, then relax again. It’s like nuzzling kitten, he thinks- soft and dry, though internally warm. He’s pleased with the deeper firmness too, already knowing how featherlight Sherlock is. When he first imagined such a thing as Sherlock allowing them to be like this, he worried there would be no resistance in the touch, that it would be unsatisfying and he couldn't appreciate it like he wished to.

As they kiss he sweeps an arm behind Sherlock to catch him around the middle and lift him in his enthusiasm. With Sherlock’s legs wrapped lightly around his hips he breaks apart for a moment to look into those sparkling glass eyes again.

“Why are you stopping?”

“I wanted to be sure this was all right with you, I don’t mean to take advantage.”

Sherlock’s soft sculpted brow makes an imitation of an eye roll, “Ugh, please.”

“All right, all right you great raggedy thing. I just want you to feel-” he struggles for a word that fits, “-good? Is there anything I can do better?”

“It will feel better when you’re touching more of me. It will feel best when you’ve touched it all,” Sherlock retorts, exercising superlatives with his usual loftiness before bending his head to kiss again.

John feels a shiver at the suggestion. Dollkind are no more or less exhibitionistic than ordinary people, so he’s never seen one fully exposed, not even Sherlock during repairs (not that he seems to care about the social mores of either group of beings). With Sherlock’s whippy limbs still wrapped around him he makes his way to Sherlock’s room.

Inside there is a table with a can of static-guard and several potions designed for Dollkind, a high backed wicker chair where John presumed Sherlock would sit to air-dry after any washing up, and a bed made up with a fairly coarse duvet (“Too high and thread count and I may as well be an ice-skater for the lack of friction!” Sherlock had exclaimed when John had noted this once during laundry). With very little ceremony, John drops Sherlock to the edge of the bed now, and stands before him warily.

“Before either of us decays, please,” Sherlock insists, hooking his thumbs into his lounge pants and pulling them off as he backs up further across the bed.

He’s _beautiful_ laid out. A network of major seams maps along him much like veins, and here and there he’s patched with contrasting cloth where John has had to make important repairs. Sherlock is mostly made of a vintage polished cotton yardage from the 1950’s they can no longer match, and his back, knees, and arms have had to be redone in a shantung silk since then. These spots of John’s mending break the symmetry of Sherlock’s original design, and reveal his motley character. When he takes in the newly revealed topography John can now surmise Sherlock must have acquired his shantung around the ordinary age of puberty.

“Right.”

He tugs off his jumper and undoes only one button at the neck before hauling his shirt overhead as well. Sherlock tilts his head when John removes his pants, which he imagines is because he’s never seen someone of the other kind live and naked before either.

Sherlock holds out his satined hand in invitation. “Beautiful man,” he says, and John climbs in.

His skin doesn’t quite know what to make of the warm not-flesh beneath him at first, until his cock settles in against the shantung prick Sherlock is equipped with. _Oh_. John flicks his tongue in little laps at the plump embroidery of Sherlock’s lower lip, working out soft gasps and velvety murmurs as he grinds his hips against the enticing texture. He patterns Sherlock’s shoulders and chest in a dusting of kisses, leaving little wet lip prints in the places where he lingers. When he notices, he makes sure to mark Sherlock’s new heart.

“Love you, you know,” he says, in case it isn’t clear.

“I’ve noticed.”

Sherlock’s hands span over his backside, keeping him impossibly close. Satin fingers trail down the cleft of his arse and rub slowly, just dipping in. John slips again and again against the silky warmth of Sherlock until he feels he can no longer contain himself.

“Sherlock, love. I don’t think I can- ah! I don’t think-” he pants. The silk threaded mouth drawing a line up and down his throat huffs an encouragement. It’s all right, then, and he lets go. Sherlock’s glass button eyes spark as he sighs when John spills his release across the doll’s belly and privates. The ribbons of his come stain dark and wet on Sherlock’s body, and he can only just stop the slippery thrusts he’s now enjoying before the sensation is too much.

John manages his breath again, and brushes a kiss on both cheeks and eyelids of Sherlock’s face. He could almost swear there was a blush there, and wonders if Sherlock might like John to add one.


End file.
